MILLY'S ARRIVAL.
THERE is another member of Mr. Morgan's family not yet introduced. Her
real name is Amelia Lewis; but everybody seems to have forgotten it;
and she now answers to the names Milly, or Mill. She is an orphan niece
of Mr. Morgan, the child of his favorite sister, who went to India with
her husband, and died there shortly after Amelia's birth.
For seven years, her father kept the child with him in Calcutta; and
then she was sent home to his mother, where she remained until the old
lady's increasing infirmities made the care a burden.
Mr. Morgan, hearing at last of Milly's destitute situation, consulted
with his wife as to what was best to be done with the little girl.
He proposed a boarding-school, and offered to be answerable for all
expenses; but Mrs. Morgan, with great feeling, exclaimed:
"No, George, never to a boarding-school with my consent. What she needs
is a home, where she can be loved and taught her duty."
"But we know nothing about her habits, and I cannot have our sweet
Emily exposed to influences which may corrupt her pure mind."
"Listen a moment, George. Somebody certainly owes a duty to the poor
orphan. If it is ours, we will undertake it, trusting in God to
preserve our child from harm. We have endeavored to teach her to love
her Saviour, and to pray to him to shield her from temptation. Now we
must have faith to believe he will answer prayer."
"But, Priscilla, think how Milly has been brought up. You know what
life in India is, from poor Ida's letters. And without a mother, the
child has been tossed about from one native servant to another. I
really can't see the way clear; and then think what a care for you!"
"Give me twenty-four hours to reflect," said the lady, cheerfully. "I
will tell you then whether I will undertake it."
The next evening, a letter was written inviting Milly to make her uncle
a visit; he volunteering a promise to pay her expenses for a year,
either at his own house or at a suitable school. A week later, Milly
arrived, in company with a neighbor of her grandmother, and quite a
sensation did her debut create.
Milly was now in her tenth year, eight months younger than Emily. She
had eyes that shone like stars; and a complexion dark as an Indian. Her
form was slender, and her movements graceful. Her limbs were so supple
that she could throw herself into any attitude and did so to the alarm
of her aunt, who feared every moment that she would dislocate some bone.
It would be difficult to conceive a greater contrast than existed
between the cousins. Emily was of fair complexion, with deep blue
eyes and auburn hair. In her person and dress, she was the picture of
neatness, while from her birth her parents had carefully guarded her
from every breath of harm.
Milly, on her arrival from a day's journey in the cars, looked like
a wild girl. Her face was covered with dust; her hair which floated
loosely over her shoulders, looked as though unacquainted with a brush;
her hands were grimy with dirt; her nails even had a deep border of
black; her dress was buttoned awry; her boots were only half laced; and
the strings hung dangling around her ancles, threatening every moment
to trip her up.
When the child had carelessly bid the neighbor who accompanied her to
the door good-by, without a word of thanks, and then, no ways abashed,
stood in the centre of the room gazing curiously at her new found
relatives, Mrs. Morgan cast a despairing glance from her husband to
Emily.
The little girl, in the meantime, was trying hard to convince herself
that this poor, neglected creature was the dear cousin, for whose
arrival she had been so impatient. She blushed crimson as she noticed
the slovenly hair and soiled dress; all desire to have Milly share her
room and bed vanishing on the instant. She could not endure the thought
of a kiss from a mouth with teeth so entirely a stranger to the brush.
But Milly did not notice the neglect. Alter one long, searching gaze
into the faces of her relatives, she threw her hat into a chair, tossed
back with a quick jerk of her head the locks fallen over her face; then
with a loud yawn, exclaimed:
"I say, isn't it hot? I'm awfully hungry, too."
This appeal changed Emily's aversion to sympathy. She stepped forward
eagerly, and seizing her cousin's hand, said:
"Come with me to your room and wash. Supper will be ready in a few
minutes."
She led the way to a small chamber on the opposite side of the hall
from her own, saying as she did so, "I'll help you to dress for tea."
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Morgan, throwing up her hands when the
children were out of hearing, "Isn't she a real Hindoo? Can she ever be
civilized?"
Mr. Morgan sighed repeatedly. "Oh, Ida!" he murmured, "How your child
reminds me of you! So like, yet so different; impulsive and careless,
but with a warm heart!"
They were interrupted by a loud, prolonged laugh from the chamber; and
in a few minutes the cousins came down stairs hand in hand, just as the
bell in the hall called them to supper.